Knock Out
by StArZiLL
Summary: Clarke Reynolds... athletic, cute, apparently perfect, unfazed by life. So what happens to her when she meets a mysterious boy with strikingly blue eyes? Clarke's POV. oneshot.


Disclaimer: guess what? im not sarah dessen. i know, i know. when i found out i was sad too.

**PROLOUGE**

"Step right up, ladies!"

My head turned to the muscular woman standing by a big red mat, her blonde hair frizzing out of the back of her head. She looked like she was trying as hard as she could not to look tired, and the grin that was plastered on her face was quite plainly fake. She was wildly gesturing towards us, beckoning us over, talking at a rate that I didn't even know was possible in the natural world. She had on a bright, white, too-clean karate uniform, with a black belt tied tightly around her middle.

"Girls," she said breathlessly, "have you ever tried martial arts?"

I looked around at Michelle, Katy, and Zoë, raising my eyebrows. Katy returned my look, shrugging slightly at the woman, while Michelle and Zoë shook their heads, eyebrows raised.

Without waiting for us to answer appropriately, she continued. "Because, in addition to being able to defend yourself, it teaches you the fine art of meditation, calming and controlling your anger, and handling various dangerous situations with grace and agility."

It was a well-rehearsed speech, I noted, sensing the bored monotone hidden beneath the bright perky surface of her voice. She was still talking to us.

"…And at our classes, we have _rad_ instructors that really know their stuff, and will teach you everything you need to know…"

_Rad_? Did this lady just say _rad_? Even my MOTHER didn't say "rad" anymore.

I glanced at Michelle, her long blonde hair swinging back behind her as she shook her head in amazement. She had clearly noticed the woman's cluelessness too. She cut her eyes at me, rolling them prettily. I grinned.

The lady, ignorant (or perhaps purposely unaware) of our disinterest, kept on talking, describing the beauty of a good roundhouse kick, the blunt control of a perfect punch. Michelle and the others, I could tell, were just as uncomfortable as I was, though they were, at least, TRYING to listen. I was busy glancing around looking for a way out of this one-sided conversation.

And that's when I saw him. I was looking past the booth the lady was standing behind, past the fliers she was now handing to Zoë to pass around, onto the mat.

I couldn't tell what he looked like, only that he was absolutely COVERED in pads, from head to toe. His head, his chest, his arms… and he was standing on the mat, just STANDING there, uncomfortable, out of place. And he was looking at me.

Don't ask me how I knew that. His head was turned in my direction, sure, but a helmet was pretty much obscuring everything about his features. He could have been checking out

Katy, for all I knew. But somehow, I knew. He was staring straight at me.

My palms suddenly turned sweaty, although I was bewildered at the reason why. In fact, I could barely tell that it was a guy staring at me. I couldn't even tell what color hair he had.

What I could see, were his penetrating blue eyes.

Suddenly, I heard Michelle's voice.

"Clarke? Clarke, you there?"

I jerked my head around, and I saw Michelle trying to hand me the stack of fliers. I didn't take them. Instead, I looked up at the woman who had been talking, and asked one question.

"What's the mat for?"

I, of course, could care less what the mat was for. What I really wanted to know was why that boy was standing on it, covered in pads. Who he was.

And how on EARTH he could have such deep blue eyes.

But of course, I didn't' find the answers to any of these things. Instead, the lady just beamed.

"Oh, that's our resident attacker. The mat is for when he falls down."

I blinked at her, not understanding. She was still grinning when she noticed the puzzled look on my face, and explained further.

"An attacker is the person that our students… practice on, if you will. He is here today for interested future fighters to "take a hit at". If you want, you can…"

I was already climbing up onto the mat, hearing but listening to the squeals of my friends behind me. I approached the guy in the pads, looking straight into those eyes.

He didn't say anything, just looked back at me, tensing his knees, readying himself for my punch.

And that's when I realized what the HELL I was doing. I didn't know how to punch! I couldn't even defend myself against the goalie on our opponent soccer team, who enjoyed beating me to a pulp every game "on accident". I couldn't kick, except a ball. I could barely even slap.

Michelle, Katy, and Zoë seemed to realize this at the same second as me, and their cheering quieted. They were, I'm sure, wondering why I was readily about to make a fool of myself in front of the whole mall. I was wondering the same thing, actually. But the only answer I could come up with was:

"_Those awesome eyes…"_

I looked into them one last time, not being able to tell exactly what they were saying.

And then, without even a thought or a moment to gather my senses, I brought my fist back and punched him.

Right in the jaw. I watched him stumble back a few paces, then look at me in wonder.

Suddenly, I felt like smiling. My friends were laughing and clapping, that crazy woman was shouting about how I was a natural, what a punch, how would I like to enter a raffle for a free class? But all I was really processing was those eyes, and the way they were staring at me.

I smiled at him, relief clear on my face. "Thank you." I said sincerely.

He nodded, and the space around his eyes crinkled to show he was smiling back. I wanted to add something, like, maybe how much I appreciated him letting me hit him, or how I wasn't really all that good of a punch, sorry.

Or maybe even how much those eyes of his fascinated me.

But I didn't get a chance. Michelle grabbed my wrist and pulled me down, grinning.

"You go girl!" she laughed, forcing a pen and a ticket on me, making me print my name in familiar block letters, and dropping it into the bucket they were using as a raffle ticket box.

"I hope I draw your name!" the talkative woman yelled as my friends pulled me away from the booth, asking all sorts of questions. And, not that I would say this out loud, but I did too. Hoped she drew my name, I mean.

A free lesson. A few dozen free punches. Hey, sounds fun.

Maybe I would even get to see those eyes again. Maybe.

A/N: hey so this is only my second story so give me a TEENSY LITTLE BREAK. lol. when (not if, WHEN) u reveiw, you will receive a free RUBBER BAND! yes u read right! a FREE RUBBER BAND SO THAT U CAN FLICK PEOPLE THAT DONT REVEIW! thats right. all you have to do is click taht little cute purple button and click some random buttons on the thing in front of you! poof! done! thanks! 


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